


Darkened Whispers

by Ebony_Prodigy



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blowjobs, Character Analysis, DMC (Game), DMC4, Demons, Devil May Cry (Game), Devil May Cry 4 (Game), Devil Trigger, Eventual Sex Topics, Gen, Gore, Horror, Human Trafficking, Macabre, OC, Other, Society Study, Umbran Shadows, WIP, mutated creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebony_Prodigy/pseuds/Ebony_Prodigy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets concerning Dante's Doppelganger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trial

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or it's characters, nor am I making profit off of this written work.
> 
> So, with my fascination with Dante's doppelganger, I've decided to write little bits and pieces about what I imagine his dark side to be, and this stuff is what I came up with. 0_0
> 
> Rated M for violence, blood, gore and sexuality.

Night dawned with a fierce presence. The city awakened with colored lights illuminating dark crevices, filling the streets with copious amounts of joyous life prowling around in bliss.

Cynical, ignorant bliss.

Behind this show of camaraderie lied a dormant personality under each body of flesh, scouring for a drastic opportunity for their true inner selves to come to light. The widened smiles, the boisterous laughter, and the atmospheric positivity concealed the monsters awaiting freedom. Cages rattled against the carefully guarded control their owners tried so hard to keep.

It was pathetic.

The lies told to protect the truth under their masks came to such extreme prices, it garnered no marvel what lengths people will go through to guard it. The woman who pretended to be single when married with children pursued another, then blamed the husband for her dishonest actions. The district attorney who fought for a victim's justice retreated to underground sex clubs to indulge his desires from kidnapped, teenage boys. The grandfather who told each of his grandchildren he loved them equally left his last wishes to the only grandchild he could stand.

_Such a waste it is to cover up the beautiful beast inside you._

A tall man walked along the plethora of writhing bodies, towering over most of the inhabitants staring with a variety of expressions. Women stared at his deep, crimson irises surrounded by onyx-hued sclearas. They gazed upon his shapely eyes, aquiline nose, succulent lips, and strong jawline dashed by stubble. Fingers twitched in longing anticipation to run them through ebony locks, and to rub sensuously on tawny skin.

Men sent wordless glares at his wide, muscular form, envy simmering in their beings over their diminutive statures and auras dwarfing against his own.

Hm, perhaps a few sad sacks of flesh let their inner monsters out of their cages while on a short leash, letting the internal beasts taste the rising jealousy in the air.

Ah, the aches emerging from the lacking attributes another wishes to possess filled the tall man with humor. So typical and naïve are humans to fantasize over mundane things, and it proved even funnier when they acted on them. It smothered the environment all around him. Women envied other women for their curvaceous figures, petite figures, small breasts, large breasts, short hair, long hair, thick legs, slim legs, eye color, nose shape, skin tone... all the superficial characteristics in an unattainable goal for perfection.

“Hey buddy, the gay rodeo ended in the 80's!”

And the males exclaimed their verbal bitterness proudly.

A group of four young males passed him, all aged around eighteen years old, made comments on his clothes. As it goes, his black outfit consisted of a replica of his maker. A long trench coat, a zip-up shirt, a belted holster, cowboy chaps, and gloves with the thumb and forefinger missing supplied his apparel. The smoke-gray jeans he wore underneath the chaps and his shoes were the only things breaking up the swarthy gear. He can pick other choices in clothing, but this served as his default choice... styled after another.

His biological nature thrived as... a shadow if you will, a doppelganger born out of Dante's antipathy and malice for his natural tendencies, what the hybrid bastard shoved deep inside his core to protect himself from others. The beast incarnate, mostly.

The tall man manifested from the repressed and corrupt soul of the half-human, half-demon devil hunter and this get-up inhabited the half-bred bitch's current garb, yet fashioned in a mixture of red and black. But he didn't mind it though, too much. Cowboy gear? Maybe. Flamboyant? Probably. Outlandish? That's up for debate. However, unlike the collective masses of mortal swine trying to impress each other with materialistic appearances, his attire has no bearing on _who_ he is.

Besides, what's the point of enjoying a night on the town without having dinner?

“All dat dude's missin' is a hat and some rope. Careful Aaron, he might want you,” the group continued heckling the man in the strange get-up, uncaring of their insensitive comments made towards him.

“Man, fuck you Randy. He yo' type! You can take dat _Brokeback Mountain_ bitch and ride his rodeo.” Aaron made tiny movements mimicking a rider bucking on a wild bull. More laughter from the teenagers erupted, gently shoving each other in lieu of the jokes told.

“Hey yo, cowboy. My homie wanna holla at 'chu-”

Behind the tan-skinned teen lied a scene devoid of the mystery man, leaving the only place he could have gone into was an alley. For good reason too, a weirdo strolling around like that at night didn't need to be seen by anyone. Aaron resumed walking when something caught his eye, imagining his shadow disappearing from the ground. He circled himself in confusion, his shadow seemed to have left him.

“Hey kid...”

This time he stopped and turned to view what stood to his back, seeing nothing out of the ordinary except the passerbys vacating the area.

“Dude, hurry up!” Randy yelled ahead of the group, ripping on the other members about their articles of apparel.

“Yeah... hey where did that freak go...”

A menacing growl erupted, Aaron increasing his footfalls towards his companions. The sickly sweet smell of rotten flesh and rancid piss suddenly scorched his nose; the growls emitted rising in volume. Shivers skimmed over his spine like _he_ was in that alley somewhere behind him.

“Eh man, what the fuck you doin'?” Randy threw the complaint over his shoulder.

Prior to Aaron uttering a reply a large black overcloud formed in front of him, towering over his lanky physique after the shaded blockade smothered his frame. Through the murky curtain of obsidian fog, menacing crimson irises penetrated into his brown ones, the teen feeling his muscles tightening upon recognizing jagged, frost-white teeth morphing into a dreadful smile. He opened his mouth to scream, but his parched throat only allowed dry whimpers to escape.

Three young males heard a broken cry, followed by a throaty screech echoing against the walls surrounding them. Streetlamps dimmed and flickered, casting deep, jaded shadows throughout the avenue as the demented bellowing continued. A barren region claimed the street, as if nothing ever flourished here. The cars once lining the sidewalks earlier tonight had vanished along with the people. With the unspoken, mutual consensus that Aaron got into trouble they sprinted to the source to help their friend.

Before turning into the alley, a harsh gurgle pierced their ears. A bloody waterfall vaulted in a violent spray out of the back street. It soaked Randy to the bone, tumbling to the ground. The other members stopped and gasped in fear, breaths coming in shorter spurts, shaking their head in denial, hearing those cries come _from_ Aaron. A stuttering wail broke through the stillness, igniting two of the teens to flee, leaving Randy all alone covered in the metallic, coppery scent.

A heavy dizziness settled in his mind, thoughts scrambling over each other to regain the concept of intellectual reasoning, but to no avail. The youth trembled with every monotonous breath expanding his lungs, exhaling with shuddering air wheezing out in sharp whispers. The physical impact of the sanguine liquid colliding into him stilled his movements, unable to control his body from a warm fluid running down his thighs. A jaw twitch forced his lower lip downwards, forming his mouth into an 'o' shape to speak.

Languid footsteps touched his hearing, his brain signals telling him to turn his head to see who made the noise but he remained motionless. The footfalls grew louder in sound until they halted in front of him, noticing booted feet and the lower half of black chaps...

“My, my. That was _quite_ the rodeo. That young bull sure wasted no time once I jumped on his saddle!”

Randy couldn't speak, too swollen with fear to voice his horror. Slowly, and with great effort, he focused upwards at the man he thought wore funny clothes, licking his lips with an extended tongue to wipe blood off his cheek.

“I gotta to say―wait, it's Randy, right?” Dark beamed down at glassy eyes, unfazed by the terrified emotions fleeting through them. “Randy, I might have to come to you again for a recommendation to another wild ride. Fuck, that was _tasty_. What, he didn't smoke or drink because that boy is, or, well was pure. Aaron made a fine piece of steak!”

A tawny hand reached down and lightly patted his shoulder. The teen released a frightened shout, scooting away hurt and bewildered, staring at the man's lifted chin and wry smile. He appeared so calm and unflappable, abnormal eyes glittering in genuine mirth when the streetlamps stopped flickering. It signified this monster enjoyed doing this for a living.

Heavy boots turned to leave, hearing a throaty chuckle filling the eerie quietness of the night. “Oh, if we cross paths again, can you refer one whose head isn't so full of shit.” A ruby-stained oval the size of a basketball rolled in Randy's direction from the alley, coming to a stop before him. His eyeballs skimmed downwards and produced a high-pitched cry, dry lungs hyperventilating; Aaron stared up at him with those large, brown eyes. “I wouldn't stomach that bullshit if it was the last thing on earth. See ya, buddy.”

A light breeze picked up, billowing a black trench coat around the owner's lengthy legs. Debris scattered through the streets, carrying a scent sweeter than candy, tangier than pickles, juicer than fruit. To him, it presented a luxury abundant in its properties, able to nourish and satiate a desolate hunger purposefully sheltered by that hybrid mongrel. Ah yes, an abundance of time remained to cultivate and supply his energies from being starved for so long.

The beast had fully awakened, ready to devour inner demons belonging to _any_ specimen and everything along with it.

“Oh, what a lovely evening this has been,” chided Dark. A loud whistling of a tune aided his steps, vanishing into the clouded night like a creature born of stealth.

“A... Aron,” Randy croaked, inching in small increments away from the decapitated skull. It pained him to do anything. Moving hurt his insides. Attempting to talk hurt his brain. Breathing in fresh copper made him nauseous. The incident happened too sudden to process, roving his soul into an indecisive state of mind. However, deep in his fragmented subconscious he knew this image will concoct into a beautiful nightmare for decades to come, constricting his sanity into a wasted individual.

The wind escalated, blowing the head closer to Randy's downed position. As blue eyes shined with pools of salted water, trembling lips let out a torrid scream.

Aaron's tilted head peered up at him, his mouth forming into a wide smile.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You know how Dante's always saying he doesn't kill or harm humans (much)? I think when the need gets so bad that he wants to do it, he represses the urge to do so, where as Dark Dante/doppelganger would indulge himself without feeling any type of way afterwards.
> 
> I'm off to do more. Ciao!


	2. Restraint

I couldn't take it anymore.

I've watched from the sidelines for a while now, anger boiling inside me as his restraint allowed the undeserving to live.

It began about four months ago, before I separated from his soul.

For old times' sake I stood by his side in combat, mirroring his every action, confusing his foes to which Dante purveyed as the real one. While we engaged the opposition, I took heed to his reaction towards different enemies.

When it came to lesser demons belonging to the Hell family he battled them with extreme prejudice, extending the sword slashes and bullet wounds inflicted on the damned with malicious glee. The smirk he had morphed into a grin, then a predatory smile rivaling that of a true sadist.

He made me proud.

Battling the beefed up, demonic "security guards" brought out his mischievous side, smack-talking his opponent while the urge to dominate their souls taunted his pride. He'd give them their props if their moves impressed him or if they lasted long enough. Often times they didn't surpass his strength, leaving him with an unsatisfied hunger he kept to himself, passing on that disappointment into me.

In combat with devil lords he'd unleash whatever animosity he withheld in him, meddling into the animalistic territory he would rather do without. Dante preferred to leave his damned heritage out of the equation, or the monster lurking inside of him. The foundations of rage, murder, blood, and fear drew Dante's beastly devil trigger to bask in those sentiments. Depending on how tough the enemy or how much time he roved in this state, he could lose himself in the destructive force.

He despised it. I loved it.

Suppressing emotions is never good, and that hybrid bitch participated in the pretended behavior. He always had to be in control of himself, refraining from getting rid of anything worth the hassle.

Like humans.

You see, Dante heard rumors of a demon named Argon kidnapping teenage boys and girls and selling them like cattle, however he had trouble linking the connections. So he took me along in secrecy to confront him. When he questioned the ringleader I would check out the area, and sure enough I found the captives stacked in six locked cages to the max. The warehouse they resided in boasted no furniture of the sort, boxes and truck trailers keeping the prisoners well-hidden from view.

A woman hollered from behind an iron-cast door. Using a technique I have known as 'phasing', I can merge with the shadows and 'transport' to any umbra of a shadow or a place lacking light. Needless to say, I've been to some pretty interesting places.

Once I phased inside the locked room I stood behind some crates, looking upon two naked males and a female chained to a wall. The stale stench of blood, human fluids and pheromones filled my nostrils, I momentarily forgetting my mission to savor the oppressive air. Another scream tore from a woman's throat, slicing into my appreciation of the tantalizing scents. Pulling on the girl's nipples stood a woman sporting sun-kissed skin with curled, chestnut-brown hair. She continued pinching and twisting the sensitive nubs, laughing at the panic and pain she inflicted.

My kind of lady.

Despite my urges telling me to nip her breasts, literally, something about her performance lacked strength. I detected a lack of _pleasure_ from her ministrations. She exuded a detached enjoyment in her advances, deprived of any finesse to her applied torture. It almost seemed as if she was forced to behave in this manner.

One of the males tried to empathize with her, filling her head with hypothetical occurrences. What would she do if her child sat in this position? What if she were sold off as a sex slave, never to know the pleasures except that of sexual gratification not of her own will? He must have touched a soft spot, her back-hand meeting his face, stomping off with her features contorted into a vicious snarl.

Now, what a change. Normally, I've seen humans forced into doing a demon's dirty work but this little Lolita turned out to be Argon's play thing, by chance at first glance. When I returned to Dante I told him him I found no prisoners, but in place of my lie I mentioned my hearing of some workers receiving a shipment of slaves within the coming week. I asked him if he wanted me to keep close tabs in the area, but he refused the help. Perhaps he didn't trust me or he believed in me fully; I couldn't really say.

Dante waved the proclaimed 'keeper of humanity' title so I felt the need to leave the rescuing to him, should he discover them. Chances are the idiots locked up like animals should blame themselves for getting captured. I can almost guarantee that more than half of those people in those cages put themselves there stemming from a lack of common sense. They stayed out late at night instead of at home. Someone slipped a drug in their drink while they looked away. A stranger offered them a ride or kidnapped them at gunpoint. Honestly, these sad sacks of flesh avoided basic logic on the simplest of matters.

With the half-bred moron occupying himself with the puzzle pieces of missing humans I entertained myself by following Argon's human-nipple twister, named Jessica Rose. Twenty-five years old. Brown hair. Blue eyes. I trailed her ever since she caught my eye. I knew where she lived, what car she drove, and the vaginal lubricant she uses when Argon visited. She worked as a social worker by day, taking children from battered parents and placing them into positions of prostitution. I'm sure she made those foster kids wish they had stayed in their earlier predicament.

Argon spent many nights in her bed, forcing her on her knees to suckle on that creepy dog-shaped dick he had. I don't know if he forced her to blow him or if she had a fetish, but he shot lengthy wads of green-colored jizz in appreciation of her talented efforts.

Talented efforts she wasted on filth nevertheless, but I digress.

I noticed he arranged a time to come over to her place and his announcement made her nervous with anticipation from fear. She then expelled her jittery nerves on the captives. Case in point, when he left her alone she didn't bother the cattle and when he did, she resorted back to her nipple-pinching status.

How disappointing.

Turns out she wasn't the naughty little vixen I initially saw, but a mindless drone ruining childhoods in exchange for a piece of chump change. Granted, I've seen mankind take advantage of others for much less, it just amuses me when people act cowardly in response to threats when it could have been avoided. I guess she trapped herself into a situation where death would be absolute if she ever thought about escaping or turning Argon in. I didn't find anything out about her childhood concerning her upbringing nor did I care to, but she aimed to lie in the bed she made herself.

I just knew Dante would forget his righteous morals and serve her justice beyond any bearings of this faulty judicial system. She did a capital offense against her own kind, and they didn't deserve the right to supply her with any punishment; it would be too good for her. Those pitiful emotions would take a back seat and the mongrel's natural nature would resurface, sticking it to the cowardly bitch while I watch him find himself again.

I told him I found the human cargo on our second hunt, explaining how they stayed naked and chained to walls with bruises and welts littering their bodies. Jessica gained notoriety from my intel too. I explained that she supplied the inventory, getting her stock while working as a social worker. I also told him how some of the captives were tied to sex machines and forced to come as a preview to their potential buyers and if they didn't reach ecstasy, more contraptions licked the inside of their genitals.

Okay, so I didn't _see_ that happen, but I needed to spice up the situation so Dante could let loose. I think my "enhanced" story meddling worked; his stiff walk and frigid features stayed like so upon arrival at the warehouse.

The henchmen tried so hard to keep their livestock in their possession that they geared to sacrifice the cattle just so Dante couldn't rescue them. To appear somewhat sympathetic to his 'save the humans' plight I prevented any of the guards from coming near the crates, hiding in the dark and unlit corners. Oh, the look of terror on their faces when their comrades vanished into my traps of shadows filled me with giggles. I took so much pleasure in playing the boogeyman it was almost criminal. I ignored the captives' startled cries, I expected them to shriek and flinch.

Rebellion thrusted forward between the slit of the exit, preventing the lackeys from scurrying away like rats. Having no choice but to confront the intruder the men surrounded him, armed to the teeth with assault rifles and shotguns. My grin stretched wide, splitting my face into two because I was damn sure this hybrid mongrel would lose his human heritage in a bit.

Someone from inside the crate screamed and startled one of the gunmen, he in turn firing a barrage of bullets that ignited a chain reaction. In a flash Dante lied on the ground, bullets holes piercing into his body, excited fear drove the bodyguards to hold down the trigger.

"Cease fire... dammit I said stop!" A tall man clearly on steroids shouted the command.

"Is he dead?" A pudgy teen in a blue hoodie and khakis asked with wary caution.

Oh ho ho, far from it. I knew that scarlet idiot geared to shred these assholes into chunks of flesh. I picked up on his raw energy awakening from his subdued conscious, thirsting to savor the bloodshed in violation of its enforced slumber. I sensed the beast's hunger after the starvation it had to endure. I could taste its anger, hatred and despair. A little push would make it break free of its cage...

"How the hell did this fucker get in here?" Steroids inched to the fallen corpse, kicking him to make sure he no longer breathed. I have no clue why he would do that when nearly a hundred bullets entered Dante's form from all those guns. A human probably couldn't withstand ten slugs puncturing them, let alone a hundred. Maybe muscle head had a point to think as he did.

"Heh, trying to play hero to these whores got you killed you white-haired freak!"

I gave him credit too soon.

"Now... why did you... shoot me up? I liked... this damn coat."

Enlarged eyeballs and opened mouths looked on in surprised horror after the cadaver spoke. Blood-stained boots pressed into the floor, followed by strong legs raising the body into a back bend. Dante lunged forward, the sound of metallic pinging filling the silence of the room; the bullet shells ejected from his wounds. Skin covered over the bloodied muscle healing the holes that once punctured his structure. Alabaster skin peeked through his red and black ensemble. Frightened chatter erupted through the group, firearms shaking in wobbly hands because the man they shot up stood very much alive.

Dante spit out a bullet he caught in his teeth with an irritated huff, looking over the entry points ruining his work garb. "You really don't know how much it costs me to keep these clothes mended."

Even though he jibed, a frozen storm sending violent shivers down their backs coated his voice, freezing their veins with ice-cold hatred. Steroids looked ready to shit his pants, raising his assault rifle to re-kill the reanimated corpse when Dante fired first.

Whizzing bullets ricocheted off the walls; the specific angles it bounced off of knocked the firearms out of enemy hands. Some of them scrambled after their killing toys but Dante shot around them, stopping them to remain in place. I haven't a clue why he didn't shoot the fuckers dead since they're already worthless, but that's... that's okay. He still has time to unleash the beast.

The distinct music of broken bones added a subtle harmony to the half-assed orchestra the peeved orchestrator conducted. But with most things providing entertainment, it jumps off to a slow start prior to picking up the pace... hopefully.

I watched with growing fascination as the men fell, cradling the injured parts of their body, writhing on the floor in ache. Each passing moment I anticipated on a broken neck or a heart ripped out because the beast hung right there. I could sense the animal craving control, desperate to taste the vile energies so abundant in the place. Yet that hybrid kept a leash on his demonic force with convincing determination, holding on strong to prevent the cage from breaking.

When the mongrel left Steroids last he picked him up by the scruff of his muscle shirt, pulling the bloodied mortal to his face with a snarl. In the briefest flash of a second I saw those blue irises change to red, the gritting of sharp canines on display in suppression from killing the bonehead.

Wait for it... wait... here it comes...

"How many more are you hiding?" Dante growled in anger.

He held his shaking hands up in surrender. "I don't know, man! I just make sure they stay put!"

"Wrong answer."

It's going to happen any minute now...

"I'm just the bodyguard. He tells... he tells me n-nothing but to secure this area. That's all man, I swear!"

He glared upon the frightened flesh in distaste, mustering a countenance of contempt at the pathetic weakling. Instead of turning his insides out Dante threw him away from him, walking over to the crates with a cold expression.

Many of the occupants scuttled back in fear when he beckoned the double-edged broadsword to come to him. He withdrew Rebellion, unlocking the containers as Steroids had trouble picking up his shattered ego off the floor. One by one the humans walked out of their prisons, those too weak to move held on to each other slowly moving forward.

A small teen with brown hair and green eyes hugged herself with tears streaming down her face, sprinting towards Dante, bawling into his waist. Fragile 'thank yous' interrupted her broken sobs, afraid to let him go as if she might collapse right then and there. And she probably would, what with how skinny she looked.

His eyes blazed into the guardsmen on the floor. Whatever the scardey-cat saw in them had him shivering, the color draining from his visage to leave a sickly looking man. With a feminine yelp he started running away, reaching in his pants along the way. Yet the half-breed wasn't finished making that asshole complete the shitting of his pants.

He took out his silver hand gun, aiming it in line with the limping mass of flesh.

And here it comes...

A shot rang out from the firearm, scaring the escapees to cower and crouch like wounded puppies. Steroids dropped to the ground, waiting on more bullets to ping through the area. After a while he slowly got up, checking himself to see if he bled. A crazed smile smeared onto his face, gearing up to taunt the white-haired freak that he missed. Ten seconds of creaking noises filled the space before a rod of fluorescent lights fell on the muscle head, knocking him unconscious.

What the fuck.

What in the hell is that mongrel doing? Why didn't he shoot the idiot dead? Did he not hear how the bastard wanted to kill the cargo instead of having them rescued? Why did he allow him to live?

I tried to find a reasonable answer but nothing made sense. If Steroids went to jail, he would mostly serve less than half the time due to crowded prisons; depending on his records community service and probation provided his best bet. This asshole would have a slap to the wrist before freedom would be his to sabotage once again.

If the cross-breed could empathize with these idiots and their afflicting plights, why didn't he annihilate those humans who preyed on their weaker counterparts? I found his methods hard to believe. Dante would let these mortals punish their own detractors when they already did a shitty job at it.

So... what role does he play? Did he only involve himself when one side gained a greater disadvantage? Would he act in the same fashion if no demons involved themselves? Is killing them off-limits because he's only half of what they were? Yet he killed devils and he shared half of their biological make-up as well. Is it a power issue? He wouldn't touch the humans because they lacked physical strength?

Fuck, I don't understand it.

The crying brunette must have pulled at his heart-strings, telling the remaining individuals to follow him out to safety.

I stayed behind in confusion of the hybrid's actions, watching how the pathetic men picked themselves up off the floor. A few of them asked where their other colleagues disappeared to, fear blanketing their sense of reason to flee. The pudgy teen yanked out a cell phone, presumably talking to the buyer of his escaped sex toy.

"I'm sorry Mr. Patterson... she's gone... I can't... I don't know... Some big guy with white hair and a red coat freed them... He shot up the place and rescued them... No, I don't know if he's a cop... No she ran up to him and he escorted her out... I know you had a deposit on her... We don't... we can't give you that back... Jessica got the money to make sure your package looked exactly like you wanted her to."

I reeled in my thoughts, mind set on weeding out the the main players. Perhaps the reason Dante let these pieces of shit keep their lives is that they indirectly participated in these acts. Maybe they weren't as hands on as Jessica and Argon, and he left his beast locked up to show to them.

It's no wonder why his animal craved the blood thirst. The look-but-don't-touch mentality would drive anyone insane.

As subtle as I could be I phased to the darkest corners of the warehouse, planning to direct Dante to meet up with the nipple-twister. Though my jovial mood curbed its enthusiasm, I smiled upon throwing the devoured, mangled bodies of the vanished henchmen into their friends, reveling in the frightened screams accompanying my exiting of the premises.

When we arrived I didn't expect her to be home, but instead I got a two for one deal. I phased into the dark house, unlocking a window so Dante could creep inside.

In the bedroom sounded off a cacophony of moans. On the bed lied a naked Jessica, legs spread apart while Argon thrusted into her. Her mouth spewed a string of passion-filled phrases, eyes taking on the expression of a body wanting to be released from an approaching climax. Obliging in her urgent demands he grasped a small cylinder toy to her side, turning on the buzzing object and sliding it up and down her clit. Her form arched into the sheets, grunts increasing in volume after he increased his pelvic snaps. She jerked when the pressure mounted in her lower belly, limbs twitching in fervor with the vibrator resting fully on her pert bundle of nerves.

How interesting. This woman seemed to have no qualms about kidnapping children and turning them over as fuck toys when she got to enjoy hers without restriction. I couldn't wait to view the look on her face when she went downstairs to see Dante waiting on her, but I thought I should get a free preview of her profile before she died.

When her body succumbed to the plethoras of eye-rolling ecstasy I let her witness two bright orbs of crimson penetrate into the darkened room. Her expression of wanton bliss morphed into one of frightened disbelief, mewls of lust switching to a contorted screech of horror. It humored me to watch her go from sweet agony to agony itself; oh how I wished I had a camera right then.

Argon pulled away with a wet plop, reaching in his discarded clothing. He aimed a pistol at the shadow I projected, the bullets disappearing into the black hole, my guttural laughter echoing in the bedroom. Argon, like the chicken shit I sensed him to be, grabbed his pants and ran down the stairs. She wrapped herself in the blankets, scared shitless with my ongoing laughter. Sending small tendrils of shadows all over the room I commanded them to shape into hands, letting her look at her purse, clothes and vibrators disappear into their fingers.

I had to keep her in here so Dante can unleash his true self when he finished with dog-dick. She held the responsibility. She kidnapped children to have them sold. She pinched nipples when under stress. Regardless whether Argon threatened her life, she had the option to say no. If her refusing to gather slaves meant ending her life, then tough shit. Sometimes the best choices in life aren't the easiest. So, since salvation or forgiveness didn't apply to her and those trapped kids made the hybrid's heart ache, all he needed to do is wrap its claws around her soul.

Or tear her to little pieces, much to my preference.

The confrontation started to accumulate downstairs, Argon trying to bribe his way to innocence. I phased outside the bedroom to view the action because her shrieks began to annoy me. Dante had Ebony raised in his left hand, sitting down with a stiff posture on her love seat, with Rebellion lying in wait on the side. The demon stuttered in shame, covering his front with pieces of clothing. Typical with any person caught in a lie he tried to deny any involvement in the situation. Droplets of sweat formed on his brow with his stuttering rambles, putting the blame on Jessica.

His patience ran out, a bullet flew to the demon's forehead, brains and skeletal fragments splattering against the wall. The look on the hybrid's face spoke of nothing but restrained rage ready to burst. He had to breathe through his mouth to control himself, but I knew it was too late. His usually calm and jesting demeanor pushed back to let the aggravation through, finger twitching on the gun to shoot Argon's body into a bloody pulp, only he didn't have to.

The demon shot out of his human shell, looking like a cross between a lion and a wolf. It's massive talons aimed to strike at Dante's throat but he grabbed Rebellion's hilt and made a horizontal arc. Jade-hued liquid dripped from the blade's edge; the creature's head rolling somewhere behind the couch, his body twitching with bright green fluid pouring out in waves.

Five minutes passed when Jessica decided to come out of her bedroom, clothed in a brown jogging suit clutching an aluminum bat. She turned on the hallway lights, peering down in her living room to see green splotches all over her furniture and walls; in the midst of it all stood the red-clad hunter. Jittery quakes wracked through her form, finding it difficult to breathe staring upon the beheaded beast lying on the floor.

"Ar... Argon?"

"Don't tell me you're going to cry over him." He spoke in a calm voice that heavily underlined his angered disposition. He just needed a little push in the right direction.

"Who... who are you..."

"Doesn't matter. More importantly, have you ever thought about how you're going to pay those people back?"

"What... who do you mean?"

Humans love to play stupid.

"I think your life would be a suitable reprieve as compensation."

Is he going to do it? Yeah, he has to.

Her mouth twitched, ready to defend or deny her involvement. "He forced me to do it! He would kill me if I didn't!"

"Excuses." Dante made a gesture with his hands to signify excessive talking.

"You don't know what I had to do so don't you dare judge me," she hollered, holding the bat with trembling fingers, tightening her grip.

"You're right, I don't." He turned around to face her, red-rimmed irises on display, his mouth forming into a sneer. "But I do know you are the guilty party here." Legs started to walk towards the stairs with purpose, steely sight focused with the presence to do harm after he sheathed Rebellion. About damn time, too.

A small yelp eased through her lips. "He made me do it! I can't help if-"

"How much money did he give you? Or the better question would be, how much is it per person?" Dante reached the first step, Jessica pressing her back against a wall in preparation of his advances. "You think that money was worth the lives you've ruined?"

Her eyes narrowed yet they simmered in fear, conjuring some excuse to justify her deeds.

"You work as a social worker for fuck's sake. But I guess as long as you gained a profit, nothing else matters to you." Dante traveled halfway up the steps, heading straight towards her with Ebony still in his hand. She tried to go into the room but I commanded the shadows to bar the door from the inside, making escape impossible. The idea to jump over the banister flitted across her features but she decided against it, inching further down the hall away from his reach.

"Get out of my house!"

"I have no remorse to take your life-"

Oh yes. This is his normal. This is what embracing his true nature felt like. Eliminating troubling obstacles from their own selfish vices. So unhealthy it thrived to restrain his urges just to let a couple of assholes walk free. Now he came to the realization that it wasn't worth keeping her alive. His moment of triumph leapt upon him. If the weight of guilt burdened him, well too bad. In the long run, he would see the benefit of her un-life.

"-but that fortune does not belong to me."

Wait... what?

"Killing you would be the sensible thing to do, but I doubt that would being satisfaction to those you tormented."

Uh, yes it would you stupid bitch. The victims can go to all those therapy sessions or get doped up on medication as an outlet to ease their mental pain. At least they wouldn't continue enduring a permanent imprisonment as a prostitute. Sometimes people need to learn to be thankful in getting out of whatever oppressive situation bestowed upon them. The emotions they harbored dragged on their quest of vengeance.

"So what do I do? Trap you here until the cops show up? Tell you more about the people you've tarnished? Bruise your soul til' you can no longer hold your head up high?"

Oh... _no_. Dammit no! Just end her life and be done with it. What's with all this waiting bullshit? I don't think those people would want her alive. Given the chance, they would more than likely kill her themselves. Why won't he take one for his human team and get rid of this wretch?

"He was going to kill me. If I didn't do what he said, he would sell me just the same!" She readied the bat to strike when he reached the top floor, Dante turning towards her with eyes ablaze in hate.

The room seemed a bit chillier then, the moon hiding behind the cover of clouds as if it shielded the light from the monster in disguise. But as it goes, there would be no need. No bloodshed serving under the guise of righteous judgment would be served on these savages tonight. Nor is that interbred asshole going to embrace himself wholly.

That powerful beast would remain inside his cage, chained up and starved; simmering in rage while it watched the depravity of the world from the inside out. Those mortals who helped to keep the captives restrained walked away with freedom, with their lives.

And so would she.

She swung the bat in an arc, intending on hitting his head when he deftly caught it. He lifted his knee bringing the club down, effectively breaking it into two. The splintered pieces catapulted over the stair ledge while she cowered in a corner and cried.

"You know, you humans love to act tough on the outside, then when you're confronted you want to run and cry like a child. What's your excuse with the water works? Are you feeling guilty or is it because you got caught?"

With a flushed face she started rambling about how her folks always worked and never paid attention to her growing up. And how she had to fight by herself after she ran away; Argon soon finding her and damn near smothering her with affection coupled with senseless fucking. How pathetic.

Not only did this privileged bitch have parents supplying her with basic human necessities, she figured since no one gave compliments on how pretty her hair looked, she had to ruin the lives of people coming from broken homes.

What a bunch of fucking petty cowards. From the both of them. She existed as nothing but a spoiled whore, and he remained oblivious to the beautiful creature craving savage release.

I didn't bother to stick around to hear the rest of her sob story, nor did I care to. I'm done.

Incident after incident brought about a similar scenario with me growing angrier at the outcome. Labor camps ruled by demons kidnapped and forced children to work under their command. Scam artists conned people out of their homes then used them as demonic hideouts. Humans worked under devil kingpins to distribute drugs. Each time he discovered the culprits, the Hell-born fell to his blade without warning and he left the mortals to their human judicial system. Many of them willingly chose to aid in the dirty deeds, yet they skipped punishment by his hand, even though he shared half of their blood.

After the last bout I left his side. To this day I wonder in disbelief at his blatant refusal to kill mortals. Long as they weren't in cahoots with demons, they could fuck, rape, kidnap, torture and maim each other without interference on his behalf. Perhaps his heart softened up not to injure the weaklings or maybe it extended deeper than that. I'm assuming the death of his human mother had influence over his decision to exclude mortals from kissing the barrel of his gun. Still, why couldn't he break whatever oath her dead body stirred within him and disturb those who disrupted the peace, human and demon alike? I swear, that mongrel is a walking paradox at times.

Some weeks later I pass by a newspaper stand, magazines and books filled with manufactured men and women advertising cheap products. Among the colorful pages sat a newspaper, bold red and black print showcasing a picture of a young brunette sitting on a bench with her head hung low.

**Jessica Rose, 25, Sentenced to 20 years in Prison for Human Trafficking & Kidnapping**

I sneered in disgust when my legs cared not stop to let me read the article. I knew it would come down to this. She probably didn't have any criminal record, making her skip the death penalty in lieu of a lenient punishment. In this case she got lucky with a hard slap to the wrist, able to revel in freedom soon in these rapidly passing years. And if she remained a spoiled princess, she'll find some other method to make someone's life miserable once outside of those iron bars.

My legs continued to walk on a steady path, viewing the breathing contradictions who dared to carry on in ignorant bliss behind their masks. Such trifling degenerates leading interesting lives made me wonder about the hybrid and his eccentric way of living.

I assume he felt pity towards them. Such fragile lives they lead maybe led him to distrust them in their foolishness, finding no need to destroy them since they were proficient in doing it to themselves.

Is he afraid of losing himself; scared to see what he truly is if he walked around without suppressing his emotions? Or maybe one day he wanted to walk among them in harmony, but he knew he could never receive the chance due to the unsettled monster lurking inside his shadows, ready to kill in void of notice.

I don't know, perhaps I never will.

There's only so much freedom to indulge in when restraint is an ever-common practice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That moment when you feel some type of weird emotion about something you write...yup.
> 
> I picture Dark as this creature who "messes" with people who gets on his nerves, human and demon, big and small...oranges and apples :D
> 
> And I kinda wonder about that too. Dante won't kill humans even though he's half of one, no matter how bad, yet most demons get the axe quick. Hmm...


	3. Cycle

This is the house where Dark lives.

This is the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the cat,  
That ate the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the dog,  
That killed the cat,  
That ate the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the car with the bloodied horn,  
That hit the dog,  
That killed the cat,  
That ate the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the woman all frowning and scorned,  
That banged her head on the bloodied horn,  
That hit the dog,  
That killed the cat,  
That ate the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the monster all scratched and torn,  
That bit the woman all frowning and scorned,  
That banged her head on the bloodied horn,  
That hit the dog,  
That killed the cat,  
That ate the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the priest all covered with gore,  
That cut the monster all scratched and torn,  
That bit the woman all frowning and scorned,  
That banged her head on the bloodied horn,  
That hit the dog,  
That killed the cat,  
That ate the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the father that screamed in the morn,  
That alerted the priest all covered with gore,  
That cut the monster all scratched and torn,  
That bit the woman all frowning and scorned,  
That banged her head on the bloodied horn,  
That hit the dog,  
That killed the cat,  
That ate the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the daughter, crying and forlorn,  
That told her father that screamed in the morn,  
That alerted the priest all covered with gore,  
That cut the monster all scratched and torn,  
That bit the woman all frowning and scorned,  
That banged her head on the bloodied horn,  
That hit the dog,  
That killed the cat,  
That ate the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

This is the teddy bear smelling of decay and worn,  
That was held by the daughter, crying and forlorn,  
That told her father that screamed in the morn,  
That alerted the priest all covered with gore,  
That cut the monster all scratched and torn,  
That bit the woman all frowning and scorned,  
That banged her head on the bloodied horn,  
That hit the dog,  
That killed the cat,  
That ate the rat,  
That licked the blood  
That lay in the house where Dark lives.

* * *

Dark wasn't a fan of sunlight, or basic light for that matter. For weeks he scoured for a residence to call home, away from humans and the bullshit trailing after them.

When he found his abode nestled deep in the woods, he took to re-furnishing his place... by means of stealing furniture and décor right out of stores inside his shadows. He fashioned his house out of the swarthy colors of black, red, and silver, supplying the abode in styles of Gothic haute couture. But soon he discovered he wasn't alone.

About forty years back, a scientist created this house for his wife, son and daughter. With rejected funding from the board of directors he wallowed in despair and anger, soon taking his failed experiments to his family. His wife and son didn't make it through the night with their biological _enhancements_ , but his daughter prevailed as the victor. He kept her locked inside her room, feeding her scraps while increasing the dosages and blood work. When he “trained” her enough, he took her out for some _bonding_ time.

The scientist followed the board members and their personal schedules, remembering their daily habits in preparation for his retaliation. Every night at the darkest hour he unleashed his scarecrow-looking, disfigured daughter onto the unsuspecting men, leaving their gnarled bodies to discovery by the public and their families to see.

One night, in a drunken rage, he didn't lock the door properly, the daughter sneaking inside his room to wait for him in silence. The scientist became the victim of his own creation when she tore open his throat and gorged on his flesh... or so the rumors go.

Her only solace linking her to any memories of her mother and sibling resided in her teddy bear, the one she cradled onto as if her life would be nothing without it. When Dark read the article in an old newspaper in the library archives he couldn't find himself to throw the stuffed animal away, leaving the room in its tattered condition.

And the scarecrow-looking girl who still lived there.

For some odd reason she didn't bother Dark, sometimes following him or slowly lagging behind while he took walks around his property. He didn't mind it, though. Perhaps she sensed that he dwelled as a lonely soul in a sea of chaos. Or maybe she deemed, like her, that he was a monster created from the selfish desires from those who once governed them.

While reading up and learning more about the house, some carefree child had gone into his home and explored one day. By the way she navigated the premises it wasn’t her first go-around. She knew where the kitchen was, the living room and bedrooms with practiced ease, however she seemed a bit startled by the updated décor. Dark melded into the shadows, watching her with curiosity after he followed her up to the daughter's room.

“Hi, Mr. Teddy-kins,” she said in a voice full of radiance and sunshine. Her auburn-gold hair and dark blue dress provided an ethereal light brightening the pale, toneless room.

Dark phased into the umbran corners of the bedroom, only peeking his head out from the mist. How unprecedented. He didn't see a _reason_ for a little girl to know about a place like this. And how in the hell did she slip away from her parents to be over here, if she had any? If it so happened that a family lived in or near this forest, then they deserved to lose her.

“Father Phillips is coming today to see me. He says that you're a bad influence on me and mommy wants you thrown away, but I won't let her!” The child pouted in dismay, her tanned cheeks rosy and puffy with her mouth pulling downwards. Her green eyes glassed over when she hugged the worse-for-wear toy. “I'll show them to you, Teddy-kins. I'll bring you home with me so they can see what _good_ friends we are.”

Oh... that was _so_ not a good idea.

He wondered how this child remained alive if the scarecrow-girl hadn't ripped her to pieces yet. Did they happen to form an alliance and they became friends? Did this little girl remind the monster of a time that she would no longer get to experience? Surely if this fledgling was some random drifter, then scarecrow would have picked up on her scent. Nevertheless, for some reason, she stayed out all morning and only returned at nighttime.

“Let's go,” she smiled, voice laced with mirth, cradling the teddy bear close to her heart, skipping all the way to the door and leaving.

What a peculiar display. Not only did this little girl contain bravery to trout through this place all on her lonesome, but she made friends with a cotton animal in the worst shape of its life. He supposed he should have said something to her to scare her away, but he figured since she trotted around here like no one's business, she _knew_ what she was doing.

Crimson irises watched her run in the long grasses, drawing wonder to the innocence of childhood; so many young minds ignorant of the dog-eat-dog world surrounding them. Often times, he wondered how it would be if he remained oblivious to society, but that would remain the biggest fable he'd ever endure. He would much rather live a bitter truth than a sweet lie. What's the point of sugar-coating shit when the reality of it would reveal itself eventually?

Protecting young virtues from the cruelty of nature damages them with expectations seldom to be met when they reach adulthood, if at all.

Her petite form shrunk to a tiny shadow disappearing into the early morning rays, carrying that old toy with her. To what purpose she befriended the thing he could only speculate, but if he knew anything about attachment, his roommate would have one hell of a hissy fit when she saw her property _missing_.

And she probably sensed a disturbance already. He recognized another dark figure moving in quick strides in a diagonal, soon to intersect the happy girl and the teddy bear.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The poem came from the poem 'This Is the House That Jack Built' originating in England and has since gone through some changes as time waged on. It doesn't have a definite author so I can't tell you who created it.
> 
> As you can see I modified the lyrics to fit that thing you call Dark so I hope it somewhat matches. Geez, due to this hot weather I had it written a week ago, but it was too hot to type so my apologies!
> 
> And Dark has gained a new friend! Aww... or is it eww?


	4. Greed

Hazy yellow-orange streaks shone down on a brick, gray-brown building, dingy from neglectful upkeep as the days passed by. Inside the old but sturdy dwelling sat a tall man sifting through a random magazine, seeing a chrome and black motorbike park outside his shop. His nerves tightened, preparing for the incoming nagging trailing the heels trotting up the steps.

3... 2... 1...

“Dante, are you here?”

“Go away, Lady.”

The female hunter stood at the shop's entrance of _Devil May Cry_ , glaring at the devil slayer sitting behind his desk, nerves already on edge over her arrival.

“Why aren't you answering the phone?” she said, mocking the answer she knew he would give.

“What day is it today?” he replied, bored.

“Tuesday.”

“Then that should explain everything,” he responded, giving her a pointed look.

“Oh come now, am I that predictable?” Brown booted heels walked further into the office, her attire of a single-buttoned, pin-striped blazer and matching hot pants combing through his field of vision. “What if it's a job and you're missing out on it?” Her deep brunette, choppy hair smelled of peaches, not a strand out of place and professionally cared for.

“The only customer that calls on a Tuesday is the incessant bill collector standing in front of me,” he grumbled in recollection of her stubborn and neediness for his money, “I'm starting to think you hound money from me on purpose. Why is my I.O.U so large with you again?” Dante flipped through an issue of _Cycle World_ , pining over the bikes he could only daydream to own with his fleeting finances.

She scoffed. “Do I need to remind you of all the loans I got for you, not to mention all the times you've borrowed from me? You've racked up quite the tab.”

“Yeah you do, every time you come over. Two loans for $10,000 a piece.” Dante gave a slight glare before returning to his book. “Remember that cutesy little mission in Fortuna? When it was over you brought me and Trish our paycheck, but not before you took my share before I even got to see it. Very un-ladylike by the way, but seeing it's you, you could give two shits.”

Her sculpted narrowed eyebrow said otherwise, rising above her rose-tinted glasses. “Bullshit! The only reason I demand money from you is that you never pay back what you borrow. And speaking of borrowing, the loan still isn't paid off in full yet.”

Battle-scarred legs walked over to the dingy billiards table, taking off the harness to her rocket launcher and setting it beside her. She picked up a pool stick, aligning the tip to the ball prior to connecting the two, a red-striped ball rolling in a straight line into the pocket.

“Hmph, I wonder why. You probably took that money to buy you one _whole_ outfit.” Dante put the magazine down and picked up his frosty can of beer, sneaking a peek at Lady's backside, ruminating deep in thought. “Why are women's clothing so expensive?”

“Wrong.” She moved over to another ball, lining up the shot. “Loan sharks have something called _interest_. I paid off the initial loan, but you owe nearly $3000 back in unpaid payments. Add that to the $4000 you already owe me... tsk, tsk, tsk. That's not a good look for you buddy.” The cue ball cracked a green one, spiraling towards the edge of the table before joining its sibling.

She stole a glance in his direction, noticing his scrunched lips. Had he learned to save his pocket change instead of squandering it on needless vices, he wouldn't be in this situation when it came to owing her.

“Need I remind you that that's your bill to me. We won't go into your debt with the city.” Lady set the stick against the table, walking over to the front of his desk, arms crossed in expectance. “All right now, cough it up.”

Dante took a turn to raise an eyebrow, peeved that she made Tuesdays her “Make Dante Broke” holiday she celebrated with dark glee. “Does it look like I have any money right now? I'm broke. Try again next Tuesday for the same outcome as today.”

She chuckled in bitter amusement. “Dante stop playing around. Didn't you finish a job last Thursday?”

“Yup.”

“And?”

“... What?”

“You got paid for it, didn't you?”

“Yup.”

“So hand it over.”

“Hand what over?”

A strained sigh escaped her lips. “The money from the job.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

“Did you pass by the gas station on your way over here?”

Dante stood, making his way to the pool table to toss a couple balls himself. Her light, rosy perfume danced in airy swirls on his nostrils, coupled by her becoming irritance through slitted eyes.

“Your point?”

“Gas is $4.35 a gallon. That shitty mission you sent me on wasn't worth the pay and that long-ass drive. So it ain't no money left. Drove two damn hours to kill some overgrown rats―”

“'Odd-jobs extraordinaire.' That's on your business card. That's what you do. You take on odd jobs.”

“So where does it come in with you taking every dime I have?”

“Are you listening to me?” Her voice rose, peeved over his excuses that had nothing to do with her. “Should I look up the definition of 'borrow' for you and let you read it?”

“Should I scrape up the pennies hiding in this house to buy you some Q-tips? I ain't got no money. It's gone.” He turned his pants pockets inside out to emphasize his point.

“And whose fault is that?”

In his rambling her bi-colored eyes flitted to a _Playboy_ magazine on his desk, noticing a small space between a clump of pages that didn't appear natural. Is he hiding his stash there? Did he think she would search in his drawers (as she had done before) and forget about rummaging over his desk?

“Uh, yours obviously. You're the one who keeps planting expenses on my desk instead of a damn paycheck!”

Lady heard the grinding of his teeth, heavy footsteps walking past her to go into the bathroom, with her feigning interest in her nails. When he slammed the door she took two steps towards his desk, reaching her fingers into the mysterious opening to the book, sneering at the naked woman on the cover.

“Well, you're the one who has to overkill everything then disguise it as 'flair.' Is the property you damage in the scuffle worth all that?”

Her voice heightened to conceal her movements as she felt under the space, her fingertips touching a cylindrical object, wrapping her digits around it. A pink tongue rested against her upper lip in concentration, bringing the rolled item to her sight and tucking the money in her bra. Booted heels tip-toed back to the pool table, absently holding the 8-ball in her hand to disguise her committed actions.

A hard trickle echoed in the bathroom, Lady thinking it best to leave while the opening lied in her grasp. “Well, I'll be back here soon,” she hoisted Kalina Ann onto her shoulder, a firm stroll coating her steps.

“I don't know why. I need money to pay you back, don't I?” She heard him shout, halfway down the steps after he finished speaking.

Her form molded to the slender vehicular beast, placing her helmet on top of her head after she ignited her bike. Dante could play her the fool all he desired yet she knew him well enough to bypass his trickery, and he should have realized by now she never played around when money was involved.

The engine revved three times, the booming sound bouncing off the surrounding buildings, releasing the clutch to accelerate down the street. Her tires left a tread of rubber in the road, a visible mark showcasing her presence (and victory) gracing Dante's territory.

Despite her success in taking something _rightfully_ belonging to her an essence possessed by another hitched a ride, blending into her shadows to follow her eclectic attitude.

* * *

Lunch, a shower, and a quick nap re-energized her mood, feeling refreshed enough to do a little shopping. She ignored Dante's twenty phone calls, thinking to let him ride out his anger in lieu of the missing money.

He once boasted of his ability to forgo nourishment for two weeks. Therefore Dante was a glutton, stuffing his face with pizza when he had no appetite or hunger pangs. She told him she would never leave him starving but after he revealed that revelation, he needed no monetary sustenance to squander on binging.

Though, if its been two weeks since he last ate...

Wearing a dark green romper and strappy beige heels she grabbed her purse and concealed holster, stashing a stubby yet powerful .40 chrome and black revolver in case danger approached.

Passing by her mirror a warm red and cool blue eye glanced at her face, adjusting to her dry cheeks and dimmed complexion. Her ebony locks had fallen limp from sending demons to their fateful ending, leaving her little time to pamper her appearance after their filth and grime lowered her physical aesthetics.

“Ugh, Suzy's Spa here I come.”

Her fingers rubbed through her hair, fluffing it out to save what little luster it had left then exhaled in harsh spite. The sooner her style received a small update, the better she'll be able to function on other priorities... like getting Dante's finances in order.

Another payment to the loan agency wasn't due until _next_ week, catching up after she used this money to repair a small part on her bike, leaving her an opening to pamper herself prior to listening to Dante rant about his bills.

“Suzy's Spa sounds expensive.”

Manicured nails froze on the doorknob, whirling around after she pulled out her firearm. A hot jolt ran through a stiff spine, mixed eyes scanning her apartment in alert scrutiny. The closest lamp to her sat in the living room, walking in the short hallway from the door to reach it.

A soft sheen of pale light illuminated the black and white main den, seeing her sparse but decorative furnishings in their respective locations. Her hardened vision inspected every nook and cranny on her way to the kitchen, thinking the stranger ran in there, keeping her back to the wall and her steps quiet.

Lady inhaled small breaths, softening the rapid thuds of her heartbeat. Her revolver stayed close to her chest upon slinking into her chestnut brown, Italian-styled kitchenette. She squatted behind the island, creeping against the wooden surface until she reached the switch to flick it on. Bright yellow light swept over the clean space, looking around the island for the source.

Could she have imagined to hear the strange voice, perhaps outside her door while lost in her thoughts? Yet it repeated the spa name just as she did. Surely it isn't a coincidence?

“I must be losing my mind,” she whispered aloud.

“I'd go crazy if you'd spent my hard-earned money on your personal vices too.”

This time a cold shrill skittered up her spine, knuckles turning white from the strong handle on the gun. Clenched teeth steeled against clacking jaw bones, willing her tightened leg muscles to find the elusive person.

She swallowed in thick gulps, gathering her nerves to recover her voice, strengthening to kill this fucker who dared to break into her home.

“Show yourself, you bastard!” Her demand shot out with a shrill undertone, annoyance simmering in magnitude because she sounded weak. Weak is one thing she hated to be.

Strappy heels stopped moving en route to her living room. Someone had turned off the light near her couch.

Bare legs moved without permission, turning around to double back into the kitchen.

A click rung in her ears, darkness swallowed her in rapid settlement. The intruder had flicked off the switch.

The noisy breath she blew out sounded like a whimper, adamant to brighten her surroundings to see her opponent. Quick movement led her to the living room lamp, a sharp rustling sound directed her attention to her open curtain.

A dark figure sat on her window sill, a leg propped over a knee, the moon's rays shedding light on a white rectangular paper held in one palm.

Her hand shot out to flick the switch, halting her finger's momentum when a heavy yet familiar voice spoke. “Don't turn on the light.”

Using her quivering nerves as encouragement she turned on the switch, bi-colored eyes landing on her mysterious intruder, gun aimed in direct alignment with his skull.

“Fuck,” the male voice growled, pinching his eyelids from the sudden light piercing the room. “I guess you can add 'hard-headedness' to your personality traits.”

Lady's mouth parted, the revolver in her grip shaking upon the man sitting in her living room. His hair, skin, and clothing had darkened considerably, leading her to believe _he_ had gone over the edge... or undergone an extreme makeover.

“Dante?” her mouth breathed the name on stilted lips.

Tinted hues of hardened crimson drifted in her direction, focusing on her without a hint of warmth, malice seeping into his look in veiled anger. “Don't call me that name.”

His tone chilled her, locking her limbs in frozen shock by how his evil aura exuded an oppressive air. Darkness seeped from his core, his mood laced in thick coats of virile contempt. Instincts kicked in, re-affirming her grip on her pistol because this wasn't Dante. Is it a changeling or an incubus? How did it get in here and what did it want with her?

“This 'loan' I'm looking at is a little fishy.” The man turned back to the paper, irises barely seen as he squinted over the words. “You said he owes $3000 when, in actuality, it's $6,827. Suspicious, wouldn't you say?” His accusatory comment complemented narrowed eyes supporting an unkind gleam.

A roiling sensation of indignant emotions bubbled inside her, prickling her brain with the urge to retort in violence yet she needed to calm her sentiments. Lady had to exercise her wits, weaving cautious and defensive awareness towards this intruder—to this demon.

“Who are you?” She demanded, her tone sounding stronger than before.

“Not like it'll matter to you but if you must know, I simply go by 'Dark' or when I need to blend in with you _humans_ , Etnad.” He drawled in a bored voice, never taking his eyes off the paper.

“Why do you look like Dan-” she thought better to not say Dante's name, taking a foot nearer towards the dark male, “-him? Why take his form?”

“You made a payment on this two months ago. What have you done with all that money you hound from him?” He ignored her query.

Another step inched closer to the mystery man, mismatched eyes seeing an assortment of papers near him. How did he search her house to come across those?

An impatient huff sprang from her mouth, angered over the notion of a demon searching through her belongings, judging her based on his ignorant beliefs on her and Dante's partnership.

“You're getting angry.” he smiled, “I can hear your lapping heart beat, your grinding teeth. I can even smell your acrid fear-”

“Fuck you,” she snarled in a venomous tone, keeping her hands from trembling, finger twitching on the trigger. “Why the hell are you here?”

A lazy smirk quirked his lips, slitted eyes shifted to her tense form. He has watched her for some time now, evolving from this hard and guarded girl to this hard and guarded materialistic woman....and she received her ill-gotten gains by pimping out that mongrel.

Her ways intrigued him, witnessing how something so human and frail could harness commanding obedience, especially to the hybrid.

“I'm curious to know how you bend that half-bred bitch to your obstinate will.” His smile darkened, a nasty look splaying in his eyes. “For years, you take what he rightfully earns then squander it to dress like a hooker... among other things.”

He heard her breathe through her nose, slanting bi-colored eyes in dangerous intent. Her ambiance swirled in potent clouds, gathering energy to shock him with her enraged thunder of violence... or try to.

“Tell me your secret,” he propped an elbow on his knee after he let go of the paper, leaning his head against a gloved hand in direct fashion to Dante's, fully focused on her. He continued, “How can you make an idiotic demi-god bow to your whims?” Then added as an afterthought. “I guess I just answered my own question. Pain is the best way to train a dog.”

“Leave,” she uttered, voice heavy with disdain, her feet shuffling closer. “I won't tell you again.”

A gleam twinkled in his eyes, humored over her will to guard her pride―from exposure of her facts. Yes, that's it. Humans often hate critique and judgment of their vices and issues, left to the critic to dissect their problems and throw it back in their faces.

How fun this was going to be.

_Bang_!

Smoke flowed in small tendrils from a smoking barrel, the shooter's widened eyes looking at the bullet caught between two gloved fingers. An impassive face stared at the slug, twirling the metal object with disinterested turns.

“Does it feel good to get your way?” He tossed the bullet with a calm 'clink' on the table, shaking out his hand before resuming his relaxed state on her window sill. “How many times have you shot him, in the head mind you, because he hid his money or he got on your nerves?” Fixed eyes trailed up and down her physique. “You're quite ballsy. I like that.”

She bristled. “You don't know a damn thing about me nor do I care about what you say!” Judging by his quick reflexes he was no ordinary devil, unable to acquaint himself with defeat through conventional means.

“Or maybe I'm missing something,” Dark lightly scratched his head in thought, pursing his lips together. “Perhaps you _know_ you can get away with it. Like a... rush of sorts you indulge in without consequence.”

Her arms lowered, vision flicking to the table, remembering she propped a specialty gun packing 'special' bullets underneath it, just in case any demonic event, such as now, happened inside her home. She needed to guard herself against this 'Etnad' before he decided to attack her for his sick amusement. He moved about her house with astonishing quickness, and from what she observed he possessed shadow techniques.

No matter, she's battled bigger and scarier demons than this judgmental prick. Though it begged the question of _how_ he knew about the goings on with her and Dante.

With easy steps to appear unfazed of his presence she trailed to her love seat, lessening the goosebumps crawling all over her skin to lead him with a false sense of security. She counted her time, willing her defensive streak to hold out on making an irrational move.

Lady sat on the edge of her couch, revolver still in her hand but she relaxed her grip.

“Deep down I think you know that dumb bitch won't hurt a human, so you take advantage of that, am I right?”

Her trigger finger flinched.

“And you know he can't die by ordinary means, so you enjoy using him for target practice on your insipid journey to kill every last demon... good luck on your delusional goal, _babe_ ,” he snorted, reaching for another paper to examine.

A heavy weight settled in her lungs, her hands clenching with sweat at his dismissal of her life's work. Hmph, it's easy for him to look at her from the outside when his kind drove her on this path in life.

How many lives have they destroyed when they wanted to play with a little girl's intestines? Did they ever stop to think about a family's grief and loss? Are they familiar with losing someone important to them?

No.

Senseless destruction and perverse violence fueled their worthless souls with the indiscriminate pleasures of killing, infecting the human populace and a bullet to the head stopped them from spreading.

Only three devils counted in her exception to the rule, able to witness firsthand what disastrous and despairing wreckage those they shared the wicked bloodline with craved to do.

“It's not a stupid goal,” her cold voice echoed in her house, leaning forward to emphasize her point. “I won't stop until every demon is eliminated from this plane.”

He paused, then scrunched his lips to one side. “Ah, I get it now. You made him your lackey.”

“... What?”

“Remember those few jobs you took on and you battled a demon-lord? When he made you recognize your limits? So you command _him_ to finish the dinner you only got the chance to smell-”

_Bang_!

Dark tilted his head, feeling the bullet's heated wave whiz by his nose, trailing its trajectory until it bolted into a wall.

“You're not good at listening to your faults are you?”

That same humored glint shone in his obsidian-ruby eyes, glancing upon her angered, flushed face. He must be edging her closer to a point she doesn't want to go over.

“I've had about enough of your shitty insults, asshole-”

“Not insults sweets, _facts_ about yourself you don't want to grasp onto. I don't even think there's a valid reason you act high and mighty around him when you're just a mort-”

A revelation skimmed through his eyes, seeping into his face by rapid blinks and raised eyebrows. He couldn't believe he didn't think of this before in detail.

Rich laughter filled the living room, Lady staring upon her adversary as if he'd gone mad. His dark chortle unnerved her, like he discovered some false justification about her actions.

She told him his words didn't affect her and she cared less for his opinion yet her mouth acted on its own accord, saying what stewed in her mind.

“It's easy for you and your kind to call us weak-minded when you're bathing in our blood, isn't it?” Gritted teeth stressed her point, a shifting ache rising in her core, creeping its way up her windpipe.

Her lips moved independently from her brain, unable to filter her words from riling him in anger.

“Dante has something you demons can never grasp the concept of, more or less use it in the name of good will.”

His humored nature ceased. “I warned you not to use that name.”

“I told you to get out of my house. Unless you don't want to fucking hear it, then leave.” Nimble legs stretched out under the coffee table, ready to kick it over and grab her special gun. It seems hearing anything positive about the devil hunter irked him.

“The only thing your petty human emotions are good for is to pluck my nerves raw.”

“Because he has morals and values-”

“Those morals and values conflict with his nature,” he stood, his voice lowered to a dangerous pitch, towering over her frame drawing nearer to her.

Trained muscles kicked the table over, Lady reaching to grab the gun when her body froze, bi-colored eyes landing on the empty casing of her specialty weapon.

Black pieces cluttered onto the floor, looking at dark shadow vapors retreat into the ground beneath her adversary. Her mind raced with uncertainty, viewing his ability to command umbran forces of his will. She had weapons in her bedroom but could she reach them in time? But what if he destroyed her machinery as well, seeing how he searched through her bills.

“I have watched him doubt himself over the dumbest shit imaginable,” his lips puckered, one side rising in distaste of the memory, advancing upon her in slow strides.

Impulse drew her into action, jumping out her chair to make a dash to her room. Her heart thrummed with increased pumps, tuning into her skills honed over the years should he reach out to touch her.

Lady shoved herself through her bedroom door, colliding with a hard surface knocking the wind out of her. Cold fingertips grabbed the handle of her gun, bringing forth her fist to defend herself, swinging out in wild strikes at the air. Her feet kicked out to the other intruder who worked alongside this 'Etnad.'

“It gets on my nerves, with him, always wanting to tell people off but he doesn't. Keeping shit to himself...”

Dark sat on the edge of her bed, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs, hands dangling free. Ruby-tinted irises glittered in the near-opaque niche of the bedroom, watching the human struggle against the shadows holding her.

Her gun had disappeared from her grasp, Lady releasing a gasp at what shaped to be a hand coated in obsidian tendrils disarming her; the firearm vanishing into a pool of black smoke.

Somehow she knew he stole her weapons, leaving her defenseless and open to his advances, to whatever means he has planned for her. What could she do now to defend herself? Her patience in listening to him talk dissolved into silent contempt with every word he spoke. Calling 911 or Dante is out of the question, he'll just shatter or crush her phone. Running wasn't even an idea at this point.

“Don't worry,” he crooned, interlacing his fingers. “I didn't destroy your precious bazooka. While I think you mortals are a stupid lot, you do entertain me.” A devious smile cricked his lips upwards after his shadows released her letting her stand, posture rigid and tense with fisted knuckles, radiating an opposing zeal onto his aura. “I admit it's an art with you, pulverizing everything into ash.”

“You plan on killing me?” Mismatched eyes bore into his own in heated anger, taut body positioned to strike him without notice. Her chin lifted, shoulders reared back to deflect any negative comments aimed at her.

This is what he wanted, a chance to see the tough woman exposed with her faults in front of her.

“I could... and I can. He'll be none the wiser. Knowing him, he'll fault some demon you failed―oh excuse me― _tried_ to exterminate.”

“As if you will,” she growled, dark and defiant to his threats.

Dark laughed. “Here you go using your anger as a defense mechanism to hide your weaknesses. Like now, without your guns and Dante's money supporting you and your faults thrown in your face, what do you have left?”

To the trained eye it looked like she stood motionless but he saw her tremble, unadulterated rage coiled tightly in a spring, ready to strike him in all her fury.

“I'm not lying, am I? You both know that you're human so you get away with a lot of shit no one else can. This... twisted bond that asshole has formed with you makes it easier to fake his natural sentiments. Time and time again you treat him like a living rag doll and he accepts it, so I want to know why-”

“What the fuck is it to you!”

The wind escaped her lungs when her back collided against the wall, the pessimistic fucker pressing his weight to her front, holding her wrists to either side.

“I am his shadow,” Dark revealed sharpened canines to her eyes, blood-red irises glowing in the light-less room. “Instead of him expressing his devilish nature he represses it, feeding me with a volatile energy and I am sick of it.”

Scentless breath blew into her face, surrounded by this woodsy, metallic musk he wore. Lady had to look away from his penetrating stare, gritting her teeth to swallow the rage consuming her, thinking of a way to get out of this... alive.

“Then why don't you take that up with him?” she snarled, pressing herself further into the wall to escape his touch but he didn't budge.

“I can't.” He punctuated each word. “He's gotten good at blocking me out. Nothing I've done has worked, that's why I want to know your secret.”

“I don't have any!”

“Oh yes, you do.” He paused, gripping her wrists tighter. “Yes you do. You can take his last dime without a hint of remorse yet he never curses you out or fucks you back in spades. Why?”

Her mouth parted, eyeballs enlarging in shock, taking in his aggravating temper and cold hostility. What did he want her to say? It wasn't like she could explain it to him in simple terms.

Dante shared a special bond with her, fighting alongside her in battle, her helping him out on missions. He looked out for her and she took care of him―in their own way that few could understand. To this 'Etnad' her ways are a bit unorthodox in how she interacts with Dante, but that's how their relationship is. At any time the devil hunter can set boundaries on what is and isn't acceptable concerning their actions, but no such topic ever arose.

Save for her having to shoot him a few times because he gets a little touchy-grabby.

They're connected. Bonded by families. Warriors fighting together against adversaries of misery and death.

And if Dante's personified shadow can't see that, then fuck him.

“We're friends,” she started, finding her voice to tell him off while breathing through the pain he inflicted upon her. “We've hated each other, cared for one another... there's solid trust between us. Whatever spats come about can't hold us back from connecting and continuing on as before.” Her eyes found his, resolute to drive her next point through his discriminated brain.

“Dante has a genuine soul, only those who have a heart can see that.”

“So where the hell does it come in with you treating him like shit?”

She bristled but kept her composure. “Dante will lose his office if he doesn't keep his payments on time. The collectors already tried to take his home, but things got physical.”

The memories of the devil hunter sending off the repo men with broken fingers and wrists prompted Lady to take over his bill, managing payment arrangements to keep the repo men from making the same mistake twice.

“The added amount you saw is from Dante borrowing another loan without me knowing it.” Then added later. “If you're his shadow, how come you don't know that?”

“I don't care for his daily activities. They're mundane and useless to me.”

Asshole.

He released her wrists, backing all the way near the bed with trained eyes on her. Humans are deceptive little bastards, weaving carefully concocted words to make another trust their tales. She had a straightforward attitude and he sensed no direct lies. However, is she being true to herself or only telling him what she thinks he wants to hear?

“Hm,” he muttered, unconvinced. “So to keep him docile all you need to do is put on a fake smile-”

“No. I earned his respect. He can trust anyone he wishes to but to earn his friendship is another matter.”

“Oh. So act like he means something to you then boss him around, eh? Like that saying goes, 'kill them with kindness.'”

“That's not how-”

“Yes it is,” he said, donning a disinterested look on his face. “Once you've wheedled your way into his heart, he'll take a backseat to his natural urges to keep you near. See...”

Fragments of every weapon stashed in her house burst from the shadows on the floor, scattered about her feet in tiny useless pieces. She froze on the spot cradling her wrists, thinking to let him have the last senseless word on the twisted assumption of her meaning.

“Can you stand there with a straight face and tell me you won't badger him for money to replace all your guns? Since he's your 'friend' you'll take his earnings anyway, right?”

Her nails dug into her palms, a million thoughts to utter and actions to enact prompting her limbs into motion but she stayed rooted. She should have seen it before, using her awareness to notice how he _thrived_ on negativity. He didn't want to hear the truth―no, her truth―on how her and Dante interacted with each other. The bastard probably wanted her to say how pathetic and sad Dante is to her, to betray and smear the devil hunter's pride but why would she if it held no truth to her?

Her thinned lips said nothing, bi-colored eyes staring at this... thing that wanted to tear her down but for what? Because his irritation grew with Dante taking the high-road when he could have so easily submitted to his primal instincts? Is he tired of his better soul caring for others? Was he jealous of no one showing compassion towards him? Was he even capable of feeling that?

With a hard sigh Dark left her bedroom and walked down the short hallway to the window in the living room, hearing enough veiled bullshit to last him a lifetime.

She didn't know what she was talking about. That foolish woman told herself all those pretty lies to cover her fear from what the hybrid truly is.

How disappointing.

The half-breed has a dark side no petty human emotions can cover. What will her status with him be when he gives in to his baser heritage? What will she think when she witnesses his damned side ripping and shredding mortals to pieces because he let his nature free?

Is she still going to see him as a friend then?

“Friendship, huh?” Dark lifted her window, taking a final glance in her direction before he jumped out, merging into the darkness of the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: "Her previous encounters with Dante are long and twisted; however, the two have become something like friends. She has been known to force her dirty work upon her "friend" and then demand vast sums of compensation in return." - DMC website. 
> 
> That last part, coupled with her role in the anime prompted me to write this.
> 
> In DMC3 she had a nice chunk that showed more of her personality and in the anime and DMC4 her character is like 'I'm the bitchy gold digger'. Hell, stories on here and the author's interpretation of her character are so much more in-depth than what Capcom could ever put out.
> 
> P.S. If anyone wants to know, these stories aren't connected/following in a time-line unless if I say Greed: Part 2 or something.
> 
> P.S.S. DMC4:SE edition has a video on YT showcasing Vergil's gameplay moves. And he has quite a few of them I must say :D


	5. Mirage

Pranks are comical. Hearty. Feel-good. Laughing at someone else's misfortune held the merit to humor one down to their bones. From small children walking alone to school to twenty-somethings scared to death because a prankster in a clown suit ran after them with a chainsaw, it created an exhilarating rush like no other. For a bonus, taking away one's possessions after the joke rattled their nerves brought about plentiful benefits... to wreak havoc on others.

Elizabeth Abbot and a few friends took part in these endeavors, enjoying the spoils from those they gained their goods from. They kept the incidents isolated and only picked on those they knew couldn't defend themselves, pre-selecting a target and mapping out their daily routines to ensure the best rate of success.

As luck would go, someone piqued their interests enough to trail after him down to the minute detail.

Elizabeth and her troupe had gathered at an old, abandoned warehouse by the docks once used for boat parts, and in this location their target presented to them their greatest challenge because of his presence and aura.

One breezy, Saturday night the group met in their secret hideout, tuning into their nightly main event for the past week to watch this enigmatic dark man take on these hideous, skeletal creatures; ripping their legs off with his large hands, shooting off their arms with specialized handguns. Dancing around them with his pistols ablaze brought forth a surreal show, wishing they could be apart of the action.

To scratch the desire to _have_ those guns.

They mapped out his usual haunts for a week. Lissy's Pastries drew him to its location in the morning, the chocolate chip cinnamon rolls a favorite to consume; on some days picking out moorkops or a strawberry strudel. He strolled down seedy boulevards in the afternoon, mingling alongside those who thought they had all the answers to life, making their own rules to follow. When nightfall blanketed the city he inhabited dance clubs, leaving with some random plaything rubbing on his crotch.

He never tired of this daily routine, presenting itself as the perfect opportunity to strike when a whore occupied his attention.

Elizabeth volunteered to get the guns. 'Sticky Fingers' became her nickname since the age of eight, still living up to the title six years later.

The night arrived. Cigarette smoke and exhaust fumes tainted the air from patrons leaving in cars with their human sex toys. Heavy rock music blared outside the club after he exited the establishment, a curvaceous Belizean woman occupying his arm, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

She followed about thirty feet behind them, pretending to be on a cell phone. A gray and black long-sleeved shirt, dark blue skinny jeans and stylish combat boots did well to blend in to the darkening avenues, the mayor too busy living on taxpayer's riches to update the streets.

The woman led his hand underneath her teal tulip skirt, his eager hands kneading her derriere. They walked some distance after that where buildings missed any sense of aesthetic beauty, the general populace thinning out.

The woman dragged him into a dim back street, a perky cinnamon-hued breast pulled out of the zip up crop top she wore. Elizabeth walked on ahead past the alley as if she saw nothing, sending a text message to Dexter then setting the volume to 'silent.' In the next side-street, she sprinted down the piss-laden and garbage-stench lane, knowing which shadows to stick to in order to sneak on her target.

Rounding the “U” shape of the darkened aisle she ducked behind a dumpster bin, peeking from its covering to spot the woman squatting down, her head moving in purposefu,l swaying movements. The temporary lovers satiated their desires near the end of the street closer to where she waited. In the then-reflective lights the moon radiated, Elizabeth recognized two gleaming objects resting on top of lopsided crates, away from their protective holsters the man had somewhere on him.

A loud groan tore from his throat, the woman using both hands to stimulate his member, emitting wet 'plop' sound to her sloppy ministrations. Muscular thighs supported his pants from sliding to his ankles. Tawny skin stretched over chiseled abs, seeing the cut planes that delved as his imposing form. Losing himself in his own world his muscles relaxed, head rearing back and tilting to the left. Her varied tempo made it difficult for him to keep up with her mouth, too focused on the pleasure she supplied him with.

Pleasure he'd have to submit to; too distracted to keep an eye on his guns.

She shook her head, her bob-styled, butter-toned locks twirling around her face. Elizabeth needed to remember her task, caught up in the tantalizing scene, shoving the hot and heavy touches away. She'll get hers from her boyfriend later.

Pulling out a knitted cap from her thin black jacket she willed her body to move from the rotting garbage, sticking to the shadows, mindful of the oil-slicked stains and loose gravel, using the darkened crevices to inch closer to the prize.

His hands rose to palm his eyes, thrusting his hips forward to sink himself down her throat. From the little Elizabeth saw he had a sizeable length, the woman having trouble taking it all in, but kept her services going.

From her new position the guns sat in front of her, sinking behind the closest garbage bin to wait for the opportune moment. A strong gust of wind blew westward, swinging the acrid aromas of rotting waste, piss and green apple by her. The air carried the dark man's voice with it, falling into the throes of wanton lust, his growls communicating to the world of his satisfaction.

Hands covered in black gloves reached up, ghosting close to the crates until she secured one in her hand. With a sudden jerk he whipped his head to the right, Elizabeth stilling her actions, holding her breath to wait on his next move.

The ground held the weight of his abuse, a black boot stomping the asphalt when her mouth left his cock and suckled his scrotum, tugging his shaft all the while. When his head rotated to the left again she quickly grasped the twin pistol, accidentally hitting the crate's edge with the butt of the gun.

A hard jolt ran through her, her brain sending mixed messages all at once: screaming at her to run, demanding her to stay still, telling her to shoot them. Yes, she _should_ shoot at them, cementing herself as a dangerous, becoming street lord, wearing the reputation belonging to someone who would do anything to get what she wanted. They _are_ standing right there; it stood to take no effort on her part...

With slow exertion she moved away, her front facing them to see their movements; the couple oblivious to or ignoring the sound. Deep, silent inhales filled her person, caught between looking behind her and the lovers, watching herself and her surrounding environment. Skilled luck sided with her making it out of the black street, clutching the guns to her chest. Once she reached the main road she gathered strength in her legs, pushing them forward with speed, adrenaline running from her chest to her limbs.

About a mile from the alley her meeting place blended into the shadows of the night, busted windows and weeds adding to its abandoned splendor. Grey-green eyes looked around in caution, scanning to see if anything followed her before entering through a passage guarded by white wildflowers.

Her slender build moved with swift ease down rickety stairs, hearing dust particles crunch beneath her boots. A single, low-hanging lamp swung in a long hallway, the dim yellow bulb creating extended shadows throughout the hall's length. Muffled laughter erupted behind a beaten-down green door, a white skull motif painted on as their designated meeting spot.

Elizabeth opened the door to regard her friends sitting in red bean-bag chairs. Marlon, Sidney, Jason and Dexter gazed upon her with lazy eyes, bodies lax and open with the help of a strong herbal essence hovering thick in the air.

Dexter, their leader, gathered his lethargic muscles together and stood, his 6'2 stature towering over her 5'4 frame, leaning over to kiss her hard on her lips. Her older brother and Dexter had been friends since the third grade, but their differences in goals created a wedge between them; Chris going to college and Dexter keeping his partying ways alive. Elizabeth reigned as his second-in-command to lessen that wedge, backing up his decisions.

“You got something for me?” his light, raspy voice crooned, hands coming to wrap around her waist. “I'd have to give you a spanking if you didn't.”

“That depends,” Elizabeth shot back, craning her neck upwards to stare into his amber eyes. “Have you been good today?”

“Always and forever,” he smiled, his cream skin and short blond curls appearing much darker in the barely-lit room.

“Well, in that case,” she stepped away from him, holding the two guns out in front of her, a smile splitting her face with an elated sensation filling her insides.

A grin mimicking hers planted itself on his face, grabbing the pistols, gesturing with his head for her to follow. They stepped into another room at the end of the hall, once used as a private office for the supervisor, turning on a standalone lamp. He placed the guns on a gray, metal-chipped desk, taking a moment to appreciate their beautiful design.

“How'd you get them?”

Elizabeth leaned against the door frame, proud of her feat. “That guy was getting blown off by some skank. He set them down on a crate and I snuck in to swipe them.”

“Sweet,” he nodded in appreciation, his lanky form giving his full attention to the guns.

Two M19's with heavy customization commanded his respect, one black and the other silver with wooden handgrips. Neatly inscribed on the side of each gun contained the words 'Dark and Light', quite fitting given the shade of the pistols. One of the handgrips rested a picture if a pale woman in elegant Victorian attire, one sporting white-blonde hair under a hat and the other mimicking her twin, though her locks donned a glossy-raven hue. However, their eyes told of an unnatural aura lying within them, a window inside their hateful soul with those red irises staring back at him.

To be honest, he shared dark sentiments with the women in his own right.

His little band of pranksters and thieves preyed upon others, humored and thrilled to take from those who flaunted their good gains. A void filled his insides with a warming glow after each successful attempt, driving out the hate forced onto him by society who waved their wealth around with oblivious ease. Bratty, upper-crust teens and adults on their new gadgets and wearing sporty clothes suited his purposes better, letting the victims see how it felt to _not_ have when they lost their treasured valuables.

The enigmatic gunslinger fit into the category too, coming in the abandoned warehouse to show off his cocky gun skills to creatures falling quick to bullets. It amazed Dexter how the dark man shot his way through the monsters of the night, unable to waver from his focused drive to eliminate them. In all, the gun-toting madman seemed... monotonous in his routine. From his daily errands to his 'finisher' at night, he had no particular purpose other than to repeat what he did today tomorrow. What kind of life is that to lead, stuck in a cycle of servitude to a standard habit?

“He didn't follow you here, did he?” Dexter picked the guns up, copying the physical stances he watched the gunslinger do.

“Nope. Getting head from that slut occupied his attention.”

“Good,” Dexter mumbled, engrossed with the heavy feel of them in his hands, glancing down to look at his waist. “Oh shit, it's almost time for those things to come.”

Elizabeth's face pulled inwards, eyebrows narrowing when his words hit her. “You're not really thinking to-”

“Of course I'm going to. Those things are so easy to kill,” he chuckled, Elizabeth seeing a dangerous gleam sparkle in his eyes.

“Well... for him because he's always in here fighting them,” she started slow, knowing how temperamental Dexter could be when someone offered opposition towards him, of _any_ sort.

“And what's that's supposed to mean? Because I'm not him means I can't do the same things?” his voice rose, anger punctuating his sentiments.

“I didn't say that! I just don't want you hurt. Those _freaks_ are scary.”

“Nothing will happen,” he moved past her out the door, heading to the main lobby area where workers once assembled the decks to the ships. “They turn to sand as soon as you shoot them.”

Around fifty of these fiends appeared every night, carrying these ominous scythes in which they never had the chance to swing around; their wretched lives ended before they attempted to move thanks to that man.

“What if you run out of bullets?” she followed, hoping she could deter him from his goal. “We've never seen him reload.”

“There's more guns in the storage space in the other office downstairs. We can use those if they stop working.”

Her pace slowed, hearing his heavy-footed gait echoing up the stairs to the main office area, almost ready to sprint to try out these new toys before he stopped, not sensing her footsteps behind him.

“What are you doing? Come on, hurry.”

“I-I didn't want t-to fight those things,” she said above a whisper, hugging herself to stop the cold shivers running through her.

“Oh come on Beth, it's not like you're fighting them, I am. You're going to hand me some guns if these run out of bullets, now hurry.”

Timid fingers reached the railing, her brain unwilling to command her muscles to move, searching for an excuse to be somewhere out of harm's way instead of near the action.

Those freaks are _haunting_ to be around, ghoulish faces staring at nothing with their empty eyes, emitting hollow groans full of despair and death.

“Hurry!” he bellowed, seeing her jump at his strained voice, watching her come up the stairs with shaking muscles. “We've been talking about fighting these things for two days, and now you want to chicken out?”

“Jason and Sidney wanted to fight them with you, I offered to get the guns.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, going on ahead through the door to the main area.

Echoes clamored in the distance somewhere behind her, Elizabeth letting out a squeal when she saw two dark figures coming up the stairs, calming her jostled nerves upon recognizing the stocky outline of Sidney and Jason's waifish frame.

“Did it start yet? Is he already fighting them?” Sidney's gruff voice said when he reached her, a wild hunger blazing in his azure blue eyes, half-jogging past her to catch up to their leader.

“No, he just went through the door,” she muttered, finding herself in Jason's grip, following behind him after he pulled her through the door.

The moon's rays shone in through the dirtied and cracked windows, leaving half the warehouse covered in a thick layer of darkness. Old ship decks lay coated with dirt, never to see the outside world, discovering its use as a graveyard for those sickly-looking monsters― _the demons_.

Sidney opened the door downstairs, rummaging through the armory they had stolen from various patrons walking the night. He chuckled when he exited the room, having found a toy to his liking. “Hey Dex, think this revolver will do the trick?” His gruff tone echoed, bouncing off the walls to travel through the warehouse.

“Maybe, but it's so small, like it's meant for a girl,” Jason teased, going into the room to find a firearm to use against these things.

“It's all about the power, shit-head,” Sidney shot back, eyes looking about to see if any of those mutants showed themselves, “I don't need some big gun with puny firepower.”

“Oh? Well nothing can be better than this.”

Jason strolled out the room carrying a police-issued shotgun, stealing it out of an unattended cop car while the officer investigated a report on a shooting (thanks to the dark man). Yet when he checked out the warehouse nothing was there, same goes for his gun when he returned to his vehicle.

“Do you even know how to use that, Jason?” Dexter mentioned, walking along the moon-lit windows, ears alert to hear the distinct gravel-sounding wail.

“Sure, you just point and shoot. Seen it lots of times in the movies.”

Dexter's languid eyes rolled upwards to the top of the steps. “Why aren't you down here?”

His raspy voice called out to Elizabeth, his brown eyes morphing into black little pools of concealed annoyance aided by the shadows.

Her eyes slid over to the decks, remembering how the monsters dissolved on the spot from the gunslinger's showcase. She had shot nothing before, putting on a show to make her boyfriend believe she took shooting lessons from her father; trying to impress him with a made-up resume other than her sticky fingers routine.

From her position on the upstairs walkway she stayed out of harm's way, plus she had a better vantage point to see the creatures blending with the darkness.

“I'll come down with Marlon,” she said, doing a poor job in keeping the tremor out of her voice, “Where is he?”

“Said he had to take a piss,” Sidney grumbled with absent focus, “probably took a dump too.”

Something screeched a deafening howl on the main floor, everyone startled to the noise, Dexter moving closer to his companions. Enlarged gray-green eyes scanned the area, searching for the skeletal creatures and their large scythes.

“D... Dext-”

“Hurry and go see what's taking Marlon so long and get back here!”

Her legs had a mind of their own when a broken, haunting groan filled the warehouse, her heart thudding with dread because those monsters made it in here. When the dark man fought them they appeared in a bale of dust, but she saw nothing of the sort this time.

“Marlon,” she shouted the name going down the stairs, trying to keep a leveled head before panic consumed her thoughts. “Marlon, they're here! We need you to he-”

Elizabeth skidded along the hallway until her balance gave way, falling to the ground with a slick mass staining her clothes. When she gained her bearings her breath left her, staring down at small hands painted a deep crimson. The striped shirt she wore soaked up the thick liquid, a lime-copper smell infiltrating her nostrils.

“Marlon?” A timid voice called out, uncontrollable shaking keeping her from moving, her heart pounding hard inside its rib cage.

With the low-hanging lamp swinging the light extended her shadow, growing in length until it spanned the full hallway, Elizabeth unable to turn her eyes away. A deep, echoing growl bounced off the walls in the hall, as if the shadows itself came closer to her.

_Wait... the light isn't making my shadow longer!_

Tendrils in the shape of veins crawled along the walls until clawed fingers morphed on either side reaching for her, startling her to run back towards the others. Her feet tripped over each other on the stairs, scrambling on her hands and knees the rest of the way, leaving bloodied hand prints on the steps.

“Dexter!” she burst through the door, breath heavy and short looking over the railing. A choking sound caught in her throat, seeing glistening body parts hacked into thick chunks, their guns covered in their own blood. An eerie silence settled inside the building, leaving her alone save for the company of her broken exhales. An internal hole opened itself above her heart, expanding downwards to seep throughout her physique.

Those fucking idiots. They couldn't fend for themselves, unable to fire any of their firearms; she heard no bullets ring out. Whatever these demons had done left her alone―without friends, without a life, without her lover; left to her own devices to care for herself. Returning to those selfish bastards she cared less to call parents wasn't an option, refusing to accept her love for Dexter; leaving their house away from their hateful judgments.

“You know, taking possessions not belonging to you for shits and giggles will come back and bite you in the ass.”

Elizabeth froze, holding the scream threatening to let out of her chest. Sitting on the railing overlooking the main office area the dark gunslinger spoke, his black gun resting in his left hand.

Jean-clad legs backed up slowly, keeping her eyes glued on him, unable to move or speak on instinct.

“I knew all of you watched me take out those demons, and you probably should have continued to do so,” he drawled, absently looking over his pistol.

“You... you killed them,” a broken sob left her, hands clenching to keep her frightened nerves under control.

“No I didn't. See, if you brats just stood up here and gawked like the dumb little shits you are, you would've witnessed the quarry changing.”

“I don't... what?” Little by little her feet shuffled back towards the stairs, wanting to leave but she couldn't, knowing he would shoot her if he so inclined, especially after stealing his weapons. “What do you mean by changed?”

Long legs swung over the railing, leaning his weight to the right leg, both guns in his hands. “Well, look behind you.”

A heavy line of dread sprawled down her spine, chilling her straight to the bones, nearly ready to give in to her pounding heart. Her skin prickled when a cold breeze billowed behind her, unable to turn to see what appeared to her back. In her peripheral vision a silver blade came at her from an arc, her gut telling her to run forward.

Something sharp ripped through the back of her jacket, sending her to the floor on her hands and knees to crawl to safety. Glowing red eyes stared at her, a skeletal frame draped in a long white shawl held a menacing scythe. Frantic eyeballs no longer saw the gunslinger, thinking he must have hopped over the railing.

Adrenaline spiked in her body, running with all her might to get away from the warehouse. The surrounding air smelled thick with an ashy, gasoline odor when she reached the outside, pulling out her cell phone with nervous fingers.

Blackness consumed her vision without warning, a towering wall suddenly appeared before her, coupled with gleaming fangs peeking in through a crude smile.

“Ah, ah, ah. That's not fair. You took something from me, so I get to have my turn.”

A clawed hand formed out of a shadow reached out and snatched her cell phone, leaving thin, long scars on her pale wrist.

“You'd better hurry doll, that demon isn't done playing cat and mouse with you,” the dark voice taunted, the wall that scratched her soon evaporating into nothingness.

On cue a hard swipe landed on her left shoulder, a thin line of blood leaking through the cut fabric, stinging like nothing else she's felt before. The white-cloaked demon lightly squatted, shuffling its stance, an unnatural and distorted groan piercing the night.

Her feet carried her to the main street, seeing no one who could help her, panting from weakened exertion and the panic threatening to consume her. Where did that wall come from, hiding freakish arms able to snatch her cell phone away, leaving a burning scar in its wake? Something like that isn't possible, a practice belonging in someone's nightmares or in a horror film.

No, this is no dream. Demons visited the warehouse every night, exposing her to the supernatural only thought to exist to eccentric people and conspiracy theorists. Dexter and the others exclaimed their fascination when this revelation came into their light, wanting to witness firsthand how the damned existence fared. In _their_ quest, they found out this information with their lives―and death hadn't finished collecting payment for knowing this truth.

Knots formed in her stomach, running in the street, hoping someone could see her. Short on breath, she gathered her vocal cords, releasing a shrill cry into the night. Hardly anyone ventured into this deserted part of the harbor; run-down apartment buildings, two surviving factories and a decent nightclub the only things drawing people near.

Black, laced up combat boots costing more than her entire outfit skidded along the gravelly pavement, the same-shadow wall appearing before her, blocking her direction.

The two warehouses stood in good condition sitting a few yards from the abandoned structure. Workers had left for home at five o' clock daily, leaving her without no one to notice her distress. Civilization lingered at the nightclub, except she would have to run about a mile and a half back to reach it.

Quickly turning around she sprinted down another street, gasping in fright when the white-cloaked demon appeared right by her, passing the freak without a thought. Frightened cries howled into the night, searching for any living thing to come to her aid.

She bumped into something hard and cold, assuming someone came to save her. Gray-green eyes rolled upwards to express her gratitude when her blood froze, staring into the dark man's face. Firm hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, keeping her in place, letting her see the scythe-wielding creature teleport closer to them.

“It's amazing what you mere humans can accomplish when you stand up to your fears-”

_What the hell? Isn't he a human?_ “I never wanted to fight them!” she wailed, unable to twist her way out of his grip, her body shaking in potent fear upon seeing the demon walk closer to her.

“Oh, but you did,” he wrapped both arms around her shoulders in the impression to give her a comforting hug. “ _You're_ the one who took my guns, my dear girl. The moment your DNA touched my stuff, you become part of the problem.”

A strong gust flew by her, bringing the sickly-sweet, decaying scent from the approaching demon. It stopped to bend its knees, extending its neck to release a guttural growl into the air, vanishing away from her sight.

Her throat expelled a powerful scream, knowing it would come to claim her, to cut her into pieces like it did her friends.

Cold cement smacked her hard on her face, unable to recover from the dizzying haze. Blood pooled into her mouth, a thin open line inside her cheek filled her tongue with a coppery taste, spitting out the build up. The cloaked demon brought its scythe in continual arcs on the gunslinger with him leaning back or tilting his head to narrowly avoid the blade.

Seeing the distraction she stood up on weak legs, holding her bleeding arm while half-shuffling, half-running to the end of the avenue where a small bridge led to the docks. Perhaps there she can hide among all the boats situated in a cramped garage, hoping the demon will forget about her.

The gunslinger hadn't pulled out his pistols yet, sparing a glance over her shoulder, viewing him dodge with skilled maneuvers. Should he pull the trigger the fiend will dissolve into nothing but scattered dust, blown adrift in the steady wind blowing. Obviously he's toying with the monster, playing with it as some cheap form of entertainment; amusing himself with how easy the sport came to him.

Elizabeth stopped at the bridge, well-worn yet sturdy from the heavy freights towing in ship parts and loaded boats. Whom ever built this thing forwent a railing, having large rocks acting as guardrails. Beyond the overpass the road curved before the first garage appeared, knowing she'll have to break a window with a pebble to get inside.

Rushing water flowed underneath its concrete footing, drowning out the creature's noises, trying her best to ignore the stinging pain blazing in her shoulder.

_You're almost there. Go faster! Leave this place!_

An acid, wet decay smell hit her nostrils full force when the demon appeared in front of her, unable to stop herself from colliding into the fiend.

Her mind couldn't decide on an action, letting her body respond as it wished. Booted feet called to back away, legs pushed to side-step it, hands wanted to shove it from her. Together, the movements jerked her frame to the right, falling headfirst towards the side of the bridge, smashing her temple hard into the boulder.

Dark looked on from the start of the bridge, placing his fingertips on his hips. The demon hadn't quelled itself of her scent, thin and rotten skeletal fingers gripped her hair, pulling her blood-covered profile towards its rotting face. Dark recovered the tech-savvy cell phone, crushing it in his bare hand before tossing it into the rushing water.

Seeing enough of the pathetic display he withdrew his ebony gun and fired, watching the bullet plow through the demon's skull, disintegrating into sand. Her physique slumped momentarily on a rock before it slid off, leaving a dark stain upon the large stone, falling into the river with a loud splash.

“Silly little girl,” the shadow demon mumbled, holstering his weapons, breathing in the salty, smog-like air. “You thought stealing from others was the ultimate gag reel among you and your friends, but the joke fell on you. Your life got stolen away, but I saw none of you laughing.”

Several demons in tattered clothing encircled him, shaking and twitching their bodies upon smelling fresh blood in their vicinity. A small blot of red spotted his palm from where he held her, absently licking away the last remnants of the little thief before withdrawing both of his pistols.

“See there, now I don't have an audience to cheer me on from the shadows anymore.”

* * *

“ _The citizens of Bricksburg are in an upheaval tonight after an officer shot an unarmed teenager-”_

Click.

“ _-today marks the seventh victim sexually assaulted by Senator Davis-”_

Click.

“ _-saw everythin' wit my two eyes, dem hoodlums broke into my shed an' stole my tools! One of dem looked like a queer-o-sexual with dem girly pants-”_

Click.

“ _-going to win this competition even if it kills me. If I go home without my breast implants, I will be pissed!_ ”

Click.

“ _-three students armed with homemade grenades, assault rifles and shotguns murdered twenty-six students and eleven faculty staff this morning. Police said the standoff lasted four hours-”_

Click.

“ _The socialite claims his now ex-girlfriend, Miranda Foxx, leaked the sex tape as revenge for sleeping with gay adult film star Lee Hung-”_

Click.

Dark sat on the aged, burgundy leather couch, flicking through stations on the TV portraying a chaotic view of today's world. Dante sat at his desk with a deep scowl on his face, looking over the expenses gained on a job. It required him to dispatch a nest of large demonic crows ravenous to peck away at human flesh. With their high nesting grounds, chunks of the building collapsed with his trigger-happy tendencies, leaving him with a collapsing paycheck.

He hadn't moved in over twenty minutes, ignoring everything around him except that paper. Dark purposely turned up the volume whenever a fatal crime came on, watching Dante for any facial twitches or his muscles tensing.

He remained oblivious.

“So many families are torn apart because of entitlement and superiority issues from those of a higher authority. Justice is a foolish concept only to serve those with cash lining their pockets, wouldn't you agree?”

Dante bothered with no response.

“Humans are so eager to tear down each other over petty ignorance. Too many fear change, resorting to extreme measures to maintain the status quo. How irksome.”

Dante continued unperturbed, though Dark heard the pen marks scratch harder onto the paper.

“No wonder it's easy for demons to divide and conquer. There's so much disharmony among humans it becomes easy pickings for them.”

_That_ got his attention.

He stopped his scribbles, pointedly staring at the pessimistic shadow. “The mission is done. I don't need you anymore.”

“Was it something I said,” Dark drawled, flicking through the stations once more.

“You can stop with the sly comments. Either zip it with your commentary or get back into the basement.”

“Are we to just die of boredom then?” the shadow demon griped, flipping through the channel until he stopped on a news story, his face settling into a blank canvas.

“ _Police have ended their search for Elizabeth Abbot after police found her body in the Capulet River. Authorities said they discovered her a little after five this morning. According to spectators many deep scratches marred her upper arms and back, leading some to believe that an animal had attacked her. Police-”_

Crimson irises tuned out the rest of the report, watching Dante out his peripheral vision grip the pen so tight it remained a wonder it didn't break. His eyes gave a hard focus to nothing at all, frozen in his movements listening in to the broadcast.

“Turn that off,” he muttered, voice laced with strain.

Dark lifted an eyebrow in question, noting the slayer's lax demeanor stiffen, tapping his foot in a nervous rhythm.

“What for?” Dark scrunched his face, seeing no reason to kill the switch. Dante didn't bother to say anything else on the other broadcasts. “I need to-”

_BANG!_

A bullet pierced the TV, exiting from the front screen to rest inside the couch's headrest. A tense look crossed the hybrid's face, chewing the inside of his bottom lip, unnerved after the news report came on. Without another word he stood with Ebony still in his hand, heavy and deliberate steps going into the garage, wide eyes and a solemn profile punctuating his sentiments.

The shadow demon eyed him until he left, a broad smile spreading over the lower half of his face, chuckling to himself.

He remembered Elizabeth Abbot, a young and defiant teenager who thought it a clever and comical idea to run up on him two nights ago, stealing his version of Dante's Ebony and Ivory handguns and running off with them in the midst of one of the best blow jobs he ever had.

With Dark damn near bored with his routine with Dante using him for crap missions he stretched his legs, playing a game of cat and mouse. Regardless of the shadow feline playing with his food, he hadn't anticipated on the mouse tripping over her feet and clunking her head, then falling into the river and presumably drowning.

Oh well.

Yet he had humored himself with the frantic decisions she chose, his enjoyment rising from the hunt and he thought to share it with the half-breed―by making him _watch_ the episode inside his dream.

Dark had returned to merge with Dante's shadow, controlling the red hunter's sleep-induced actions by switching their places, making the mongrel think _he_ chased the girl; it proved a better experience that way.

Judging his attitude, Dante seemed mortified by the news report, having a potent dislike towards the event, yet Dark couldn't figure out why.

Day in and day out murders populated the news station, filling hearts with dread and sorrow, and maybe the human interest story to lessen their grief with Dante caring less to bat an eye. When a piece correlating to a demonic attack popped up, then he's all ears.

Okay, so Dark assumed everything before her death should have humored the half-breed with her skittering about like a flailing idiot―hell he even included the part with the amazing head that chick gave―but he seemed troubled.

Double oh well.

That's on him if he thinks he killed her. Since he neglects his damned nature he should chalk it up to nothing but an odd coincidence; maybe recall seeing or hearing her name somewhere a few days back and super-imposing her name into his dreams.

If not, he can always enjoy the hybrid stressing over his presumed involvement in the matter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: How ...telling it was of Dark to let Dante think he was the one who messed with that girl. I don't think Dante's going to be feeling all that great for the nest couple of days. 0_0
> 
> I'm going to let you guys figure out which demon in the series it was that wanted to show Lizzy its blade skills. :D


End file.
